


Tell Me We'll Be Fine

by SylviaNightshade



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, Shaw & The Machine, maybe someday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:50:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaNightshade/pseuds/SylviaNightshade
Summary: "The world is going to miss you.""Yeah? Put that on my tombstone."ORTheir ~maybe someday~ finally comes





	Tell Me We'll Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I can't begin to describe how much this fandom means to me

The light above Shaw’s bed is off, so she can catch the last glimpses of sun streaming in through her window. The rays paint the floor in soft neon—pink, purple, blue, orange, gold. How poetic of her to notice, she thinks. Not something she would have taken the time to appreciate in her days with the ISA. Just her luck; the one person she’s ever loved turned her into a sap. 

She huffs a laugh at the thought of Root witnessing this. With her damn moony eyes full of concern, holding Shaw’s hand through it all. Or better yet, she’d be off finding some way to stop Shaw from dying altogether. That really would be a sight, if only to gratify Shaw with some attractive gunfire in her last few moments. 

Speaking of which, the Machine has been surprisingly silent through this whole ordeal. Shaw doesn’t want to waste time debating the reasons why, just reaches up— ignoring the pain which shoots down her side with the motion—and taps the piece in her ear. “Are you there?” 

_“Of course, Sweetie. Always.”_

The melodic voice sends goosebumps down Shaw’s spine, as usual. “About time,” she grunts. “I thought you’d at least send me off.” 

_“I wanted to wait until your life signs got a little weaker.”_

Shaw’s ribs twinge sharply at the reminder. “Looks like they won’t be kicking for much longer.” 

_“That’s what I was afraid of.”_

“Afraid?” Shaw manages to raise her eyebrows. A literal AI, more in tune with emotions than she is. “You got me into this mess.” 

_“I’m sorry, Shaw.”_ Fuck, She sounds like Root. _“She wanted me to protect you.”_

Shaw rubs her lips together as the pain ebbs slowly away, nerves growing more and more numb. She can barely feel her legs anymore. “Yeah, well, I made it this far, didn’t I?” 

The Machine is silent, leaving Shaw to gaze out the window on her own. The colors are fading now, only the gold recognizable in the dusty light. She’s never really been one for reflection, or such a cliché as looking back on her life before dying, but if she’s going to lay here for a little while, she might as well entertain herself. 

“You remember Gen?” 

_“Genrika Zhirova?”_

Shaw almost grins, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “Yeah, that’s the one. Stupid little Russian kid. Pain in my neck.” She pauses, suddenly short of breath. “You know, she was my favorite number. I actually… kinda liked her.” 

_“And here I thought you didn’t do feelings, Shaw.”_

“I don’t,” Shaw maintains. “I just liked her.” 

Her vision is swimming now, and she figures she’ll be gone soon. She attempts to curl her fists, not knowing if it’ll actually work. She just needs to hold on a little longer, just a few more minutes. 

“Do I get a dying wish?” she asks. 

_“Anything, Sameen.”_

What’s left of Shaw’s ability to feel warms at the use of her first name. Or maybe it’s just her soul getting ready to leave her body. She’ll go with that. “Gen,” she says. “Recruit her for me. She’d be a good asset.” 

_“But you’ll be gone.”_

Shaw doesn’t do this—the whole tragic goodbye. She won’t indulge Her by admitting she’ll miss even one part of this hellhole. “She doesn’t need me,” she says. “The world doesn’t… need me, anymore.” 

The Machine takes a moment before responding (a little insensitive, in Shaw’s opinion; she is dying here). _“I’m going to miss you, Shaw. And the world is going to miss you. You don’t even know how much.”_

Shaw can barely hear Her. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Put that on my tombstone.” 

~<:>~

When her eyes reopen, she’s standing on solid ground, the wind blowing gently at her cheeks. She can’t really tell where she is, only that she’s… dead? And that this is some kind of field, given the wheat grass and white-blue sky that surrounds her. Jesus, what a tacky way to start her afterlife. 

“It’s not what I expected either.” 

Shaw knows she’s a sociopath, but fuck, if her heart doesn’t jump at how clear that voice is. Not in her ear. She’s really here. 

Shaw turns. “Root?” 

The brunette stands with her hands in the pockets of that leather jacket, weight in one hip, smiling at Shaw like she’s the only thing important enough for her attention. “Hey, Sweetie.” 

Shaw takes a hesitant step forward, her mind flashing back to all the simulations she suffered through, but something inside her is screaming that this is real. As real as death can be, anyway. 

Root meets her halfway, that infuriating grin never leaving her face. “You look good for a gal who’s just been shot.” 

Shaw lets her mouth curve ever so slightly. “That’s my line.” 

The kiss is slow, Shaw’s hands on Root’s neck, pulling her down to her level. Shaw had almost forgotten what if felt like to touch someone like this—to touch _Root_ , like this. No one else could make her feel, make her want, or wish. Or love. 

When Shaw, more than a little sick of her post-Root dry spell in life, starts to venture under clothing, Root separates them, much to her dismay. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” she says, coy as ever. “I haven’t even shown you the city yet.” 

“The city?” Shaw repeats, skeptical. 

“Yes, Sameen,” Root indulges her. “Did you think it was all just fields and sky? The work doesn’t stop, not even when we’re dead.” 

“Jesus,” Shaw exhales. She shifts back to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I expected.” 

“As if you could go more than a week without shooting someone,” Root chides. She holds out her hand. “Come on.” 

Shaw glares at her. “Let me guess: you’ve already started an underground network dedicated to fighting crime?” 

Root cocks her head, smiling. “You know me too well.” 

Shaw rolls her eyes. She was kidding, but of course Root isn’t, the perky psycho. Fucking hell, Shaw hasn’t spent the past long, dull years working her ass off just to find out that no one actually rests in peace. 

But.

She has spent them waiting for the day she would see Root again. _That_ she’s not afraid to admit. And after all this time, here Root is, with her thick black boots and tangled brown waves and mischievous agenda. Her hand right there for Shaw to take. 

So she does. Of course she does.

**Author's Note:**

> Creds to my friend BlackWolf105 for "perky psycho". Best way to describe Root imo <3


End file.
